


Empty Gods

by MoonyBandit



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Fictional Religion & Theology, Minor spoilers in regards to Episode 14 of Campaign 2, Mythology - Freeform, Nebulous concepts of religion and Godhood, Necromancy, Other, Pre-Canon, Rebirth, Religion, Religious Conflict, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 11:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonyBandit/pseuds/MoonyBandit
Summary: In centuries past, Gods came into creation when the people had need of them or named them. For as long as they had followers to worship them, their powers remained endless. Nonegon is one of these Gods, though his followers are growing fewer and fewer as time marches on. He spreads his word to gather a congregation through his vessel, a Tiefling with uniquely lavender skin and many red eyes. He means to reestablish himself as a major religion, and has one vital obstacle to overcome to achieve that recognition: The Empire.(AKA a theory about Mollymauk's backstory before waking up in a grave that involves Gods, a desperate fight, and the threads of fate.)





	Empty Gods

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, this is the first fanfic I've written and shared anywhere on the internet since 2013. I've had this theory about Molly's backstory rolling around in my head ever since Taliesin dropped it on us. Thanks to the encouragement of the lovely folks on the Widomauk server, I've finally turned it into something more than just a collection of wild thoughts.

_Before_

 

Nonegon quietly pushed open the doors of the small chapel, stepping inside before letting them drift shut behind him. He did not want to interrupt Cree’s prayers, so he remained in the shadows, listening to her soft voice in his head. Her words were always so genuine, and he couldn’t help the affectionate smile that spread across his face as she praised him. When she had finished speaking, he stepped towards her to make his presence known.

“Good evening, Cree. May I ask what has called you to prayer at this late hour?”

The black-furred Tabaxi woman startled just slightly, but when she turned to face him, she smiled with adoration in her eyes. “Oh, Lucien! Forgive me, I did not hear you come in—”

He waved away her apology without an air of disapproval, and came to kneel beside her at his altar.

“I… I was asking for Nonegon’s blessings. I asked for guidance and strength through our journey tomorrow. And… and for his favor to shine on those were not strong enough to stay with us.”

Nonegon nodded, soft smile still on his lips, and reached to take Cree’s hand in his own, lavender skin contrasting against the dark shades of her fur.

“He has heard you, blessed one, and he has granted you peace of mind. Strength will be needed for tomorrow’s venture, but clarity of thinking carries just as much importance.” He paused, giving her hand a light squeeze before releasing it and turning to face his altar once again, allowing the eye on his neck to observe her emotions as next he spoke. “As for those who have left… He is disappointed in them, but not angry. He will not hold judgement against them.”

Cree’s shoulders dropped ever so slightly and she nodded. “I can understand His disappointment. I confess… I held ill-will against them. To leave when we’re so close to reaching our goal…!”

Nonegon raised his hand then, noting the way the fur at the back of her neck bristled, and called a stop to her words. “Do not admonish them, Cree. They have chosen their path, and it is not within His light. The Empire is mighty, and to fear its retributions is only natural. Pray for them as you have prayed for your fellows, so that no matter where their path may lead them, they travel it in peace.”

Cree nodded at his words and released a soft sigh, letting go of the tension she held. Nonegon had always been fond of her—she was devout, honest, and had been quick to accept his teachings.

A moment of silence passed between them, both facing the altar, and then as one they said the blessing that ended their prayers and touched their holy symbol. Cree’s hung around her neck, made of stone and tied to a bit of cord. Nonegon’s was within Lucien’s own skin, and he touched the one on the back of his left hand with fondness. His red eyes were always there, always observing, always protecting.

Cree rose first, and offered a hand to Nonegon which he took graciously to stand beside her.

“Lucien… may I ask what you have prayed to Him for?” she asked, hesitant, her ears angled back though her eyes searched his own for reassurance. He nodded, still holding her hand with his as he turned them towards the chapel doors.

“Tonight, I prayed to Him for His strength. I prayed for Him to be strong enough to carry us through any obstacle, no matter how great, and through the Empire’s gates. I prayed that He will lead us to His temple, so that we can build it in His name, and that none within the Empire will try to drive Him out.” He paused then, looking at Cree steadily just before opening the doors.

“ _I_ am not a vengeful God. _I_ am not a Warmonger. _I_ only offer _my_ word to those who will listen. _I_ protect them, _my_ disciples are always within _my_ sight. _My_ eyes watch over all. _My_ eyes will lead you to the Path of the Enlightened. May _my_ eyes watch over us, and grant us _my_ vision.”

Cree had almost begun to recite the prayer with him, but stopped, confused. Her eyes widened as he spoke, and his eyes observed her breath catch in her throat as a gasp, noticed her quickened heartbeat. He smiled at her, warm, knowing, welcoming, and she fell to her knees with a choked sob.

“Nonegon! You… You are here with us! Lucien—Lucien’s faith was strong! Oh, blessed day, truly—!"

Nonegon ran his hand gently over her head, smoothing her fur and allowing her to speak all of her words, as many as she needed, as fast as a river and wracked full of emotion like rapids over rocks. She wept then, openly, and he pulled her close so that she might embrace him. She did, and hear tears left wet stains in his shirt, and he did not mind.

When Cree had calmed enough to speak again, Nonegon knelt to listen.

“Thank… T-thank you, Lord, for trusting this to me… I’ve had doubts of our plans, I-I’m sorry, but tomorrow I will--!”

“Hush, my Disciple. I have heard your fears, and they are justified. I am here, with you, and will be for as long as your faith in me remains true.” Nonegon delicately took her chin in his clawed fingers then, and placed a soft kiss to her brow. “Come. Let us sleep. Tomorrow will require all of our strength. Tomorrow, many will stand against us. Tomorrow, we enter the Empire.”

 

* * *

 

_The Thread_

 

 Oh, but what had he _done?_ He had been so confident, so sure that he could re-establish himself—but oh, what a fool he’d been. An overconfident, ignorant fool of a deity. _“These people should not worship the Gods,”_ he thought, the sharp sounds of clashing steel and agonizing wails ringing in his ears. _“They do not understand. They do not know how many mistakes the Gods have made—how many_ I _have made.”_

Nonegon’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard a voice screaming to him, screaming not his name, but the name of his vessel.

“LUCIEN! LUCIEN, PLEASE! It’s the Mages! They brought— RUN, LUCIEN! SAVE YOURSELF!”

He didn’t even have to look to see where the voice had come from. The eye on his left hand observed her there, the woman, her usually blonde hair slicked a dark crimson and her blue eyes wide with fear.

He did not have to look to see the mages. The eye on the back of his right shoulder perceived their approach, and no, they were far from ordinary mages. These were the _Empire’s_ mages, mages who were trained for war, mages who held no hesitation in striking down any perceived threat to the Empire, even if it was their own _people_ deemed as traitors. Nonegon felt his heart stutter and he winced, trying to shake off his distracting thoughts. There was no use admonishing himself now, he had to get away from the fighting, he had to protect his followers, he had to help them flee before—

He was too slow. He should have known, with how quickly his disciples were cut down by the first wave of foot soldiers. He was a fool for even attempting this, he should have _known_ he did not have _nearly_ enough faith to try to establish himself in the Empire. With each strangled scream cut short, each heartbeat that didn’t meet its pair, he was slowing. Nonegon hated being slow. It was his fault. He should never have pushed this far, this fast.

But still, he ran, heart beating in his chest as he tackled someone—someone, which one he didn’t know, but someone who was one of his—and carried them both to the ground as an arcane bolt grazed over them. The mages were in firing distance now. This was it. He scrambled to his feet just as quickly, dragging his boy with him. Teryn, that was his name, and he really was only a boy at 17 years old. More blasts of energy fired around him, the air charged with it in a way that made the hairs on his arms stand on end like a storm threatening to break, and Nonegon felt he could barely hear. His stomach churned terribly as another fell before him, blackened and twitching with the residual electricity that had taken their life.

Nonegon was scared. Really, truly scared. He had felt this before, in the earlier days when he was one of many hundreds of Gods, when even a simple disagreement between followers could catapult him to his end. He had felt it the last time his thread had been cut, fearing it would be his final chance, but again he rose and again he found the faithful across all lands.

But this time… This time, the faithful were few. Some followed eagerly, basked in his every word, while some had to be encouraged, to be shown the truth in his ways. But the closer he led them to the Empire, the fewer there were to join them. He should have abandoned this plan weeks ago, when near a third of his meager congregation had left with nothing more than a prayer or an offering upon learning what he was going to ask of them. They had been right to do so.

More screams, and Nonegon clung to the boy desperately, his feet unsteady as they careened towards the forest. He didn’t even know if the forest would be safe, would let them escape the mages, but he had to try. There was more movement around him as others shot past him into the trees, more of his followers, blessedly alive though their faith in him had weakened. There were so few of them now, and even though his eyes told him exactly how many, told him their names and their ages and what prayers they sent to him at night, he refused to count them. He could not let this be his last stand. He _had_ to come back, to try again, far from the Empire this time. Even if it left him slow, decrepit, he could survive with a small following.

 

When it happened, he barely even felt it. There was no pain, no horror, no sound from his lips nor any in his pointed ears. The world was suddenly, briefly, completely silent.

That was his final warning—Or rather, it would have been, if he had paid attention to the last several hundred terrible alarms he’d been ignoring that day. He was still moving, he knew that much, but he couldn’t feel any of it. Nonegon was weightless and even as the trees grew closer, they didn’t quite seem real. All of this was an illusion, a beautiful dream of trees and sunlight and he almost felt he would float away in that instant... But the silence was broken, softly at first, and then louder, and then so close that it was the only thing he _could_ hear. He wished he would never hear another scream in the rest of his days, no matter how far they numbered.

The sound was what came first, and he realized rather belatedly that he was no longer floating towards the trees, but falling, falling to the ground, grass rushing up to meet his knees, his palm that couldn’t catch him. He was spared his face meeting the ground by the pull of an arm that was still wrapped tightly about his shoulders. Teryn’s arm, he remembered, and that was who was screaming this time, pulling him desperately. They were so close to the trees now but he couldn’t move, Nonegon couldn’t _move_ any further, he was far too slow for that.

There was a flash of black fur to his right, and then another arm gripping him, and more screaming, feral and full of terror. Cree, the eye in his neck told him, though it was… Sluggish. Different. He knew _who_ she was, but he knew nothing about her. And that was very, very wrong. Nonegon barely had the energy left to think, but he _knew_ now that something was wrong. His eyes were always there to observe for him even when his path was dark. Now it was obscured, the one on his neck— He felt a trickle of liquid forming there, knew it was coming from his eye, and that horrible, awful realization was what made everything suddenly come back into focus, all at once. His eye could no longer _see_.

Pain, blinding and terrible, exploded like a force from his chest and he knew he was screaming, he could feel the vibration in his throat and the air on his lips but it sounded _wrong_ . It was not _him_ . It was not his voice, or at least, not what it had been since the day he had taken hold of Lucien’s thread. And the screaming only hurt him _more_ , if that were even possible, and he felt another trickle of liquid spilling past his lips.

They were into the trees then. He hadn’t even seen it happen, but they were surrounded by trees, and his feet were no longer within his control. There was still shouting all around him, but the sounds of battle seemed farther off now, the dying breaths of his worshippers slipping away like moans of wind through the trees. Teryn and Cree—it had to be them, they couldn’t have left his side, could they?—were dragging him now, fully supporting Nonegon’s weight. He heard gasps of horror and wails of sorrow when his own screams were not being ripped from him. And then there was another in front of him, a woman, what was her name…?

Too late, he felt the warm trickle on the back of his left hand, and he looked. Blood. His eyes were _bleeding_. It oozed and bubbled from the mark though there was no cut through it, and his skin burned like he had touched a star. He might have thrown up right then and there if he were not so otherwise compromised—This had never happened before, not in all his centuries, and he felt a cold grip squeezing on his heart and lungs. He must have been making some truly hideous noise then because the tugging from Cree and Teryn became rougher, more insistent, pulling him to this woman, this woman… Fehn. Fehn Karane’ewan. An Elf, a Cleric, and one so… young? He couldn’t be sure. She was one of his most devout disciples, though, and there was so much he had yet to teach her…

The last thing that Nonegon saw was her stricken face, the tears tracking down her cheeks, the way her hands shook as she reached out to him. The blackness rolled in like a tunnel, and down it he went, the opening getting further and smaller until all he could see was Fehn’s golden eyes staring into his with desperation.

And then, there was nothing.

 

Nonegon was everywhere and nowhere all at once. Expanding, contracting, his presence shifting with every movement of the universe. He was formless. He had been this way many times before, had been created in this way, without eyes nor ears nor body at all. He could only perceive from here, influence the time and space around him—But, it did not seem that he could this time. Nonegon was surrounded by stars, and he called upon his divine energy to ask one to blink. It stared back at him, cold, bright, unwavering. _“Strange,”_ he thought, and tried again. The star did not so much as flicker.

Divine presence was endless, unlimited, though not always influential in all ways. It had different ways of manifesting, similar to how nebulas exploded in a prism of colors through space or how each snowflake that fell to the earth was unique. It was as infinite as the universe itself… Until the universe pushed back. The universe grew and pushed that presence into a smaller space, shrinking, flickering, dwindling. Nonegon could feel it happening, his presence being constricted, and had he had a body he knew it would feel as though his lungs were collapsing.

A body… Nonegon had had a body. The thought was enough to distract him from the crushing feeling and so he pushed out, stretched, further and further until he reached Exandria and settled into the clouds, hovering like rain as the land spread out before him. He looked with no eyes, and saw the scene as he had left it, watching from above. There was the body, collapsed onto the ground, vicious red spreading across the back of the white shirt it wore. He looked closer, a droplet of water falling from the sky. It had been an arrow, straight and long and dipped in the Empire’s preferred toxins. It went straight through the back and as he watched his followers carefully turn the body over, he saw the ugly point of it blooming from the chest. Straight through the lung. That explained the liquid on the lips, warm and metallic when he had tasted it.

Another few droplets of water fell from the sky. In the field, the Empire’s soldiers were picking through their carnage, finishing off any stragglers without question. The mages were already gone—had they even been there at all? — he knew they had, knew that that was what had spurred him to run. He turned back to the scene in the woods. Cree was so careful, so delicate with the body, snapping the point off the arrow so that the shaft could be pulled out and away without causing further damage. Lifeless red eyes stared towards him, towards the sky as Fehn drew the arcane circle around it, just as Nonegon had taught her. They were doing everything properly. The pressure of the universe on his presence seemed slightly less.

He watched as the circle was completed and Fehn stepped back, turning to his congregation now for those who would offer. Cree was the first to step forward, his favorite, the one who knew; and she was followed by Teryn. Another came forward, taking their place around the body, and then a fourth, and… Nonegon could not remember their names. He saw their faces. He knew he had spoken them, had guided them, had listened to their darkest fears and deepest wishes. And he did not know their names. The pressure grew tighter. A few more raindrops fell.

There was silence, and Nonegon worried. There had to be a fifth, for the ritual to be cast there had to be five, surely someone…? Movement, from the trees, and for a moment he feared it was the soldiers come to destroy the last of them—But it was not a soldier, it was one of his, and this time he wasn’t sure if he knew their face at all, and they were limping heavily. A blonde woman, staggering towards the group. She saw the circle… And stopped short.

The scene below was growing hazy, distorted, and Nonegon felt the pressure so greatly now that his entirety was swarmed with terror. This couldn’t be it. This could not be his end, defeated by the tyrannical Empire when he had been so close to his restoration…!

He saw the thread. Purple, just as the day he had picked it up and tied it to the end of the old red one, just as the color of the body in the circle. The threads of life, essential to the universe as they wove together and apart, coiled and knotted and smoothed, hung limp, pulled near to snapping, or ran until there was nothing left. Some even offered themselves to another, to a higher purpose, to be pulled by other hands not unlike a puppet.

The purple thread was pulled tightly before him, and he knew the blades of fate would soon come to sever it, cut too short from it’s spool, and wasn’t it his fault? His fault, to be so foolish, to waste such a beautiful thread with such length and potential. The pressure grew tighter still and if he had had a mouth, Nonegon would have screamed then. Instead it came out as a clap of thunder, sharp and directly over the group in the forest. Raindrops fell more freely now, but he was not within them. He was losing his grip.

The woman who had stopped stepped towards the circle, and the thunder stilled as she did so, like breath being held. All she had to do was take her place, to stand where she was needed… She struck her sword into the spot and leaned heavily on it. A sigh of relief that came as a rush of wind blew across the clearing, pushing the red-stained hair back from her face. She was crying, and the sky cried with her, as Fehn began to speak.

The purple thread snapped. Nonegon felt it within his being before he saw it, and the scene below faded into shades of gray and blurred shapes. This was it, this was the moment—The ritual had begun, there were enough of his own left for the circle, he still had a chance…! Frantically he pushed, seeking the next thread. He did not care its color, its length, its style, it just had to _be there_ —

 _There_ it was not. No matter how hard he pushed to find a thread, the universe pushed back just as forcefully. The tail end of the purple was slipping, slipping away, and he could not find another to tie it to. Fear, raw, powerful, consumed him. This could not be his end. This could _not_ be his end. He still had so many to teach, so many to inspire, so much knowledge of the world’s secrets to give! He reached desperately into the darkness-- A bolt of lightning streaked across the Exandrian sky— But he felt nothing. There was no new thread. The ceremony was in progress but there was nothing to carry him back, no anchor for him to cling to, there was…

Lost faith. Abandoned hope. Confidence in him, vanished. There were no willing threads that he could tie to, could continue through. He had… nothing. Nonegon had nothing. No congregation, no body, no worshipper devout enough. No names… There were no names that he could remember. The faces were leaving him, he could feel them slipping. The universe was squeezing him, tearing him apart, taking everything from him. He saw the frayed purple thread tail vanish and he could no longer see, could not… think… The rain was pouring from the sky and he was not in it, not in the clouds, not in the wind, he was nowhere. He…

Who was he? He couldn’t remember. The… something, something was taking everything away. He felt nothing, as the something took away emotion. Slowly, slowly, he was dissolving away, pieces of him swallowed, never to return. Pressure, the pressure, it was fading… Not releasing, but it had taken away his perception of  it. Or perhaps there was not enough of him left for there to be pressure on.

The last thing that left him was sound. A voice speaking words he did not understand. Fading, fading, slipping away from him, though they ended with a tone of finality, of completion. There was nothing left. Nothing, no feeling, no hearing, no sight, no reach, no thoughts nor memories. He was… empty. All of it had been taken away, and he was at peace, because there was nothing else that he could be. Empty. Just empty. Empty as the void that swallowed him whole.

He had reached his end.

 

There was lightning and thunder booming, the very sky at war with itself, as Fehn finished the ritual. She opened her eyes and looked anxiously around the circle, at each of them, and then she looked down at Lucien. He was unchanged. She knew what he had told her, to not expect an immediate return from the recalling ceremony, but she could not tamp down the doubt in her heart. Another crack of lightning spurred her into motion. She gathered the five who remained and ushered them to shelter under some branches of a thick pine tree. She’d done as she had been taught and she knew they were to wait two days before burial. They would stay here as long as necessary.

From the shadows of the trees, sheltering with all that remained of the Disciples of Nonegon, six pairs of eyes watched the body.

 

The moment the words had been spoken, the purple thread had been caught. It had snapped far too early, but the words would not let it slip away into nothingness. There were no new threads for it to be tied to, and so as the words continued, the thread began to coil. It coiled back around its other half, the frayed end still with such length left to it, and the words pulled it tight. The ritual was complete. The knot had been tied, but there was no divine hand to guide it this time. It would never be smoothed out again, forever changed, and so it returned to itself just as the circle broke.

 

The rain stopped falling after six days.  The forest was empty. The ground was sodden. There was no one there to watch the grave.

 

* * *

 

_After_

 

A single heartbeat. A breath taken. Cold. Damp. Crushing. Metallic. Gritty. Pressing into mouth and nose and ear as though to fill the emptiness left behind. Life, struggling, clawing at the pressure, desperate to escape. It pushed and pushed but it felt the pressure would never end, choking on it, feeling… fear. The life became more desperate, clearing the pressure away only for more of it to come crushing down on it. The life clawed regardless.

And then, faintly… There was light. The pressure was starting to give and the life struggled all the more, choking and spluttering and straining until finally, _finally_ it broke through the surface. The light flooded in, the pressure vanished, and the life was free.

The hands were the first to break through the surface, black pointed nails that were almost claw-like on each finger, and as soon as they could they were pulling and gripping and getting _out_ of the earth. A shaven head emerged from the earth sporting ram’s horns and pale lavender skin. They coughed violently, mud having filled their mouth and spilled into their lungs.

Shoulders, torso, hips, tail, and legs followed with a struggle not unlike the birthing of a new life. The earth gave them up with resentment, as though it wanted to cling to them and keep them buried within. The life, a tiefling, crawled to a tree. They were panting and shaking, covered in dirt and mud and bugs with holes in their clothing, nothing more than a simple white tunic and a pair of loose brown trousers.

They leaned back against the tree, weak, thankful to have something solid behind them that was not pressure. They looked up towards the sky. The sun was setting, and two moons were rising just above the canopy of the forest. They looked down at themselves, hands shaking, and they did not recognize anything that they saw. There was a distinct red mark on the back of their left hand—they touched it and felt nothing.

Nothing. Nothing but a form, a heartbeat, five senses, and emotions desperate enough to fight for life. There was nothing in them, no memories, no words, no name or knowledge of where they were. They clenched their hands as the realization flooded them with dread.

They had only one word within them. They were empty.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I know some of the concepts involved may be pretty confusing, but I tried my best to explain them through context as much as possible. Kudos and Comments are very much loved! You can find me on Instagram @asg.creations and Twitter @asg__creations if ever you want to scream about this fine purple boy at me.


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